“Are you threatening me, Kane?”
“I prefer to think of it as saving your linens from unnecessary violence. You would most assuredly end up on a dueling field with a nasty hole blown through your shirtfront.”
“Nothing would please me more than ridding the world of one of your ilk, Kane, and ridding Norah of this loathsome marriage in the process. But if you think I would stoop to filling the ears of a child with such vulgar rubbish, you are mistaken.”
“I am much relieved.”
“Don’t be. There are dozens of others who would delight in nothing more. If you think you can protect her forever, you’re wrong. Someone will tell her, Kane—tell her everything.”
The words struck Aidan like a blow against which there was no defense. Montgomery knew he had won. He strode from the chamber, leaving Aidan alone with the truth.
For an hour, he paced the drawing room, trying to gain control of the emotions Montgomery had unleashed inside him. Jealousy. Self-doubt. Terror for his daughter, and fear of the fever Norah had fired in his blood.
When Calvy, the footman, entered the chamber, Aidan all but snapped off the youth’s head. “What the blazes do you want?”
“I just wanted to wish you all happiness with my lady,” the boy said, undaunted. “And also to let you know that… well, sir, the maids have just left her bedchamber.”
The corner of Aidan’s mouth tightened. “Is that one of your duties now? Carrying servants’ gossip?”
“No sir. I just thought… well, I—”
“Goodnight.” Aidan bit out the dismissal and watched as the footman made his way from the room. He felt like a surly bastard.
Damnation, was the entire household going to be peeping about corners to see when Aidan deigned to bed his bride? His jaw set, grimly. Blast the woman to hell. He wasn’t about to tolerate her sacrificing herself to his lust in order to quiet gossip, and yet neither did he want any whisperings, any hint of ridicule to hurt her.
He would damn well have to join his bride in the bedchamber, Aidan admitted to himself. The only question was what the devil was he going to do with the infernal woman once he got there?
Norah roamed the confines of the Blue Room, excruciatingly aware of every sound that echoed on the other side of the carved oak door: the giggles of upstairs maids as they carried away Norah’s bathwater, or the low voices of footmen in the chamber across the hall, helping ready it for Philip Montgomery.
But Aidan’s room remained deathly quiet, and no matter how Norah strained to hear the purposeful booted stride that she had grown so familiar with, she heard nothing but the erratic beat of her own heart.
She pressed her fingertips against the bodice of her nightgown, as if she could somehow still that telltale rhythm, and paced once again to where the looking glass hung, suspended over Delia Kane’s dressing table. The woman who stared back at Norah seemed like a stranger.
Delicate shades of rose had been buffed into her cheeks by the crisp Irish air, and the dark skeins of hair that tumbled onto the pristine whiteness of the fragile gown glowed with unaccustomed richness. Her lips seemed fuller, softer somehow, and her eyes… they were uncertain, wary, and yet shining, alive in a way they had never been before.
She had invited—no, she had all but pleaded for Aidan to come to her room tonight, so desperate had she been to prevent further clashes between her new husband and the old friend who had come to display such belated concern for her welfare. It had been a faint hope that Aidan would find the invitation to her bed intriguing enough to dissuade him from continuing to match verbal swords with Montgomery. But Aidan had answered her plea with a probing look in those green eyes, one that peeled back all pretenses, seemed to be searching for something in her face.
He had promised to come to her. Yet she had already marked the militant click of Philip’s heels in the corridor, the sharp tones of his voice as the door closed behind him; there had been not a whisper from her husband.
Had he chosen not to come to her this night, remembering her angry words in the church what seemed an eternity ago? Or was he merely draining another decanter of brandy, in no particular hurry to claim her?
Norah winced, astonished at the power such thoughts had to hurt her.
At that instant she heard it: Aidan, none too quietly coming down the hall. Her pulse tried to beat its way out of her throat, and her fingers tugged ineffectually at the lace-edged collar of her bridal nightgown. When his footsteps stopped outside her door, her breath froze in her breast.
She jumped a foot when he banged his fist upon the door. Heavens, Norah thought, rushing to open it, did he intend to awaken the whole county and alert them all to his arrival?
She jerked the door open just as he struck the panel again.
Her cheeks were afire with embarrassment as she stared into that devastatingly handsome face. “Do you want the whole house to hear you?”
“No, my dear. Only our guest, and any servants that still happen to be lurking about,” he said, entering the chamber and shutting the door behind him with one splayed hand. “That was the idea, wasn’t it? The purpose behind your unexpected invitation?”
Norah drew back, chilled by his words. His smile was hard and reckless, dangerous and silky with a kind of sensual menace that made her skin burn. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“It would be rather awkward to explain, I would imagine. A newly wed husband not visiting his bride’s chamber. But here I am, at your service.”
Norah’s eyes stung, and her knees trembled. “I only wanted for you and Philip to quit—quit behaving like…”
“Like what? Rutting stags with only one doe between us? You must forgive the man—I fear he has delusions of heroism where you are concerned. Conveniently timed, I might add. Now he can stalk about like some Byronic hero, gnashing his teeth and beating his breast in righteous fury, but without the inconvenience of having to pay any forfeit for his gallantry.”
“Forfeit?”
“Marrying you himself, my dear. Interposing his bared chest between your vulnerable breast and my villainy.”
“You’re being ridiculous. Philip is a friend, Aidan. Someone who was once kind to me.”
“And I am not kind.” It was a statement. A challenge. “Or perhaps I am. At least I’m not as vile as Montgomery would have me be. After all, I’m here, am I not?”
With painful deliberation, those long fingers went to his jacket and began unbuttoning it, the muscles beneath flexing and rippling as he stripped it from his broad shoulders. Norah caught her lips between her teeth, nervousness running wild through her veins. She had already seen every part of Aidan Kane: the perfectly sculpted muscles of his chest, the long, powerful lengths of his thighs, the flat plane of his stomach, and that most intimate part of him nested in coarse, dark hair.
She had run her fingertips over his sleek, bronzed skin when it was damp with the sweat of his fever, had pressed her body against his in an effort to still his wild thrashings when the nightmares had grown too fierce. She had fallen in love with that wounded, pain-filled man, the earnest, battered hero who had confided to her the betrayal that had crippled his heart and changed his life.
But now, as she stared into those emerald eyes, Aidan Kane unnerved her, a man as elusive and enigmatic as the sea mist scudding into Rathcannon before a storm.
He tossed his jacket with studied negligence onto a tiny gilt chair, and his fingers went to the buttons of his cuffs. Norah couldn’t watch another instant, unable to bear the heat stealing through her, the embarrassment and terrifying attraction, overlaid with a pulsing hurt that rippled from the places he’d left raw at their hurried wedding. Not like this, a voice inside her cried. She didn’t want him to take her to bed like this, with that almost belligerent set to his jaw, the lips she had tasted so briefly in Caislean Alainn without any tenderness.
She turned her back to him and clutched her fingers together so tightly her wedding ring cut into her skin. “I—I think I’l
l just… I…” she started to stammer, then fled headlong for the bed. She climbed beneath the coverlets, as if they could hide the emotions that were too painfully sensitive to endure that hard green gaze.
“What the devil?” Aidan’s gaze slashed to her, and he frowned. “Oh no, my love. You mistake my intentions. You made it quite plain earlier today that you did not want me in your bed.”
“But I… I thought you…” Her gaze shifted from his jacket to his unfastened cuff’s, but he was merely rolling them up over his sinewy forearms. “I thought you came here to—”
“To make wild, passionate love to my bride?” Why was there such sudden bitterness in his tone? “No. I came for another reason.”
“What’s that?”
His hand delved into the pocket of his jacket, his mouth twisting into a smile. “I came to play a game of wagers, my love,” he said, casting a deck of cards onto the bed.
“Wagers?” She gaped at him as if he’d run mad.
“We have a deal of time to kill, to make certain all concerned believe we had a wedding night. I thought a game might be diverting. Of course, in my opinion, the interest in the game is determined by the value of what lays wagered on the table.”
“I don’t have any money,” Norah said warily. He paced toward the bed, then strung his long, lean body across it with the grace of a jungle cat.
“Money is tedious in comparison to… say, buttons.”
“B—Buttons?”
A smile spread across his face, dark and secretive as the lushest black velvet, as his deft fingers began dealing the cards. “Let me demonstrate.”
Norah stared at him, certain he had taken leave of his senses. But whatever he had in mind, it would be far easier to placate him by playing cards than risk him deciding to indulge in other, more traditional bridal night pursuits. With unsteady fingers, she took up the cards he had dealt her.
She had always considered herself fairly accomplished at faro, but she was so unnerved by Aidan’s strange behavior that she played like the rankest amateur, bumbling over her cards, tipping her hand, while Aidan played with consummate skill.
When she flung out her last card, her eyes flashed up to his, wide and a little bit shaken. “I… lost.”
“Only this hand, my love. Now I shall claim my forfeit.” A shuddering breath racked her as those supple fingers reached across the space between them, the callused warmth hooking beneath the tiny mother-of-pearl button at the neck of her nightgown. His gaze held hers, hot, taunting, as he flicked the button through the hole with practiced ease. The fabric gaped open just enough to expose the wild beat of Norah’s pulse in the hollow of her throat. One finger dipped into that hollow, lingering, caressing, until Norah had to trap a moan that was rising in her throat.
“I’m not… certain about wagering buttons.”
“Surely a glimpse of your soft, secret places is not too much to ask on my wedding night. Is it, Norah?”
She nibbled at her lip. “I… Aidan, this is—is insane. We can’t… this can’t be…”
“Proper? I suppose not. But I’m your husband. If I hunger for such delights, should they be forbidden me?”
There was a primitive allure in the beautifully chiseled planes of his face, a latent sexuality that bewitched her.
“It’s just a game, Norah. I give you my word that I won’t ravish you.” He flashed a wicked smile. “That is, unless you beg me to.”
The words stung and goaded, firing Norah with a surge of determination. “That, sir, I will never do.”
He laughed, rich and deep, so loud Norah was certain everyone in that wing of the house could hear it. She was half tempted to dive across the coverlets and stop up his mouth with her hand. “Norah, Norah, a word of warning: Never dare me. From the time I was a grubby-faced boy I could never resist one.”
“Then perhaps we’d best not play at all.”
“Play,” he said, with a meltingly carnal smile. “I cannot win every hand. Unless, of course, you are too timid. Afraid of being beaten. Ladies are often regrettably poor at games that require so much… er, intellect. That is doubtless why the poor dears are not allowed within the sacrosanct halls of White’s.”
He was baiting her on purpose. She could see it in every harsh, mocking line of that face. The subtle twist of his lips kept tugging her gaze back to them, making her remember the way they had tasted, the consummate skill with which they had initiated her own mouth into the dark flow of passion.
But despite the fact that she knew what trick he was about, she couldn’t seem to resist rising to that challenge.
She held her head up high. “I prefer to think of White’s as a haven where men can cower together, unwilling to match their wits with the superior intellect of women.”
“An interesting premise. One you and I shall test tonight. If you have the nerve to do so.”
“Deal the cards,” Norah said.
She played with steely determination, not allowing herself to become distracted by his beguiling masculine smile. She forced herself to ignore the hints of pain that clung about his mouth, the self-doubt that wove a subtle pattern along with the restlessness in his eyes.
In minutes, she flung down a winning card, triumphant. “There. You are bested.”
He looked for all the world like a thwarted boy, and he grimaced sullenly. “I suppose that means I shall have to surrender… my boot, perhaps? However, I’ll need your aid to remove the blasted thing.”
“I don’t want your boot!”
“But that was my wager. Gaming debts are debts of honor.” Green devils danced in his eyes. “Help me, Norah, else my soul be blackened by such a heinous crime. Believe me, when it comes to honor, I have very little left. You’d not want to rob me of the last of it, would you?” His eyes were smokey and seductive. “Help me, angel.”
There was something compelling in his eyes, and she climbed from beneath the coverlets, nervously eyeing the glossy Hessian he extended toward her. Gripping it tightly, she tugged and pulled at it until her hair tumbled over her flushed face. Yet she’d rather have died the most torturous of deaths than admit defeat to this arrogant, mocking man.
It was that flash of grin she caught from the corner of her eye that did it. Brilliant white teeth in a rogue’s smile that could have bewitched any feminine heart from a dozen paces. The smile made her give a savage tug on the boot. It came free and tumbled her backward. She fell in a heap on the bedroom floor.
The corners of Aidan’s eyes crinkled, and she could see him make a manful effort not to laughter. Instead, he said in tones of the most tender concern, “Did you wound yourself, my love, landing on your… er, delicate parts? Poor angel, may I kiss it and make it better?”
“You’re impossible!” Norah said, flinging the boot at him. “From now on, any item you care to wager you may remove yourself. Now play!”
It was scandalous. It was embarrassing. It was treacherously exciting, matching wits with Aidan at cards. Tricks were won and lost, games disputed as if the safety of the throne depended on them.
But as Aidan’s rein-toughened fingers dipped again and again into the bodice of Norah’s nightgown, the vee of silky bared skin growing alarmingly wide, Aidan’s cynical banter and Norah’s bouts of outrage faded into something more subtle, more dangerous, more enticing.
Time and again Norah caught those green eyes clinging to the wedge of her skin, tracing the curves of her breasts, visible through the gap. Twice she saw his tongue steal out, to moisten lips that seemed parched, thirsting for something other than brandy or wine.
When he won yet another trick, Norah’s voice was unsteady as she said, “We cannot play anymore. I—I have run out of buttons.”
Dark lashes, thick and curling, dipped to half mast over those relentlessly masculine eyes. “Then I rest my case. Men are superior to females in games that require higher intellect. Of course, we could raise the stakes.”
Norah wondered how far he could push this game. What wager wou
ld he demand of her after they had played three or four more hands of cards?
“This time,” he said, fingering his own half-opened shirt, where the crisp mat of dark hair was visible against t he stark white linen. “This time I shall be magnanimous. I shall let your forfeit be my shirt.”
“Your shirt? But I don’t want you to—”
“To strip my shirt off?” He looked at her with demonic guilelessness. “As you wish, my sweet. I was only attempting to do you a kindness. I was quite certain you would rather have me strip off my shirt than slip your nightgown down your shoulders, across your breasts.”
Those hot words made her feel as if her skin were already bare to his gaze. She could picture all too clearly those big hands unveiling her breasts, those intense green eyes devouring the velvety pale mounds, lingering on the vulnerable coral tips of her nipples with earthy delight. Most horrifying of all, she was entranced by the idea, compelled by it, appalled because he had made her such a wanton that some secret part of her actually wanted to reveal herself to his uncompromisingly sensual gaze. That knowledge drew a choked reply in a passion-thickened voice she didn’t recognize as her own.
“Your shirt. I accept that wager.”
She played like the veriest fool, distracted as Aidan lounged against a mound of pillows, the muscles of his chest flexing, the iron-hard sinews pulling his shirt open further, ghosting over the burnt-sugar planes of muscle, tantalizing with a forbidden glimpse of his nipple against the edge of linen.
Norah was certain she would lose. She tried to take comfort in the fact that if she did, Aidan would be the one to surrender a garment. Yet the mere idea of this sulky, sensual man naked to the waist made Norah’s fingers so unsteady, she could barely hold her cards.
When the last card was played, she looked up at Aidan in dismay. “I—I lost….” Tension coiled low in her stomach, a prickling heat in her breasts. His hands—beautiful sculptor’s hands—skimmed the fabric from his upper body, revealing glistening muscle, silky dark webbings of hair, dauntingly broad shoulders. His black breeches were slung low on narrow hips, and Norah could glimpse the shadowy indentation of his navel just above the waistband of the garment.
Lords of Ireland II Page 96
